


Optimism is (Not) That Good

by thieves



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Fluff, Gen, M/M, this is a feel good fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 22:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14175021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thieves/pseuds/thieves
Summary: Credence works at a coffee shop. His regulars include the police officers from the station next door and the students from the university down the street, but never the two at the same time. One day Chief Graves brings a university student that he'd arrested on the way to his morning coffee run.





	Optimism is (Not) That Good

1.

Credence normally has the morning shift, which is his favorite time to work. Sleepy people rush in, take their morning coffee, and rush out as quickly as they came. Customers in the morning usually consist of college students and people who work at the police department across the street.

The coffee people order in the morning is easier for Credence to make, too. Nothing syrupy, sugary or complicated in any other way.

Customers are rarely in the mood to chat in the morning, which is more than fine with Credence. Sure, chatting up total strangers is basically part of the job description, but he keeps to himself whenever he can. He can certainly do that in mornings.

Another thing Credence likes about the morning shift is that no customer chooses to drink their coffee in the cafe. Not that there‘s enough space for that. One table with two chairs and the counter being three steps away from the door is all this place can offer. Credence finds it to be cosy.

So yes, the morning shift is the best shift, and Credence doesn‘t even mind having to wake up at six in the morning for it. People come in and out with their coats unbuttoned and their scarves draped loosely over their necks. New faces (probably freshmen students) come in and out along with people Credence is familiar with. And then there are the regulars. Credence knows three people who come in every single morning and order the same thing.

The first regular to show up is Officer Goldstein - the woman who always orders two americanos. She‘s a police officer, and she has a sister, who sometimes visits the coffee shop with her. Credence knows they‘re sisters because the blonde one is one of the few people to strike a conversation every time she comes in. This time it‘s just the dark-haired sister. She orders the coffees and goes on her phone when Credence takes her order, but she leaves a tip, which Credence appreciates very much. He has rent to pay, and college education to save up for. She leaves after offering Credence a smile that he thinks is pitiful. He also thinks about the time when she yelled at his foster mother and had to be dragged away by her co-workers.

It‘s calm for a bit, and Credence takes the time to make a cup of coffee for himself. The job comes with certain perks. Another regular, a college professor, opens the door and Credence starts making his double espresso right away.

As per usual, the chief of police is the last to get his coffee out of the three regulars.

“Barebone,” he greets. “The usual.”

Without a word, Credence turns to the coffee machine.

“How’s life, kid?” Chief Graves asks. Credence can hear the clink change makes when it hits the glass tip jar.

“Same old, I guess,” Credence answers and sets a paper cup under the steady drip of black coffee.

“As long as it’s not getting any worse.”

Credence nods. The coffee stops dripping, and he sets the cup in front of Graves. He can smell cigarette smoke mixed with cologne. The money is already on the counter. Graves takes his coffee, grabs a sugar packet and is out the door with a muttered, “take care, kid.”

It’s nearing nine, which means little to no customers until about half past ten. Credence uses the time to finish drinking his coffee and read a book. He now has a few books of his own, but is still a frequent visitor of the library. Ma didn’t think highly of fiction books, so Credence is taking advantage of his freedom.

+

Chief Graves tells Credence interesting stories sometimes. They’re always about what happened at work. He tells Credence about the criminals, about the crimes they committed, and how he’d dealt with it. It’s almost always violence, but Credence still wants to hear the stories.

A reoccurring character in Graves’ stories is someone named Scamander. Credence always looks forward to stories about Mr Scamander, they’re usually the most amusing. Scamander this, Scamander that; the guy must be exceptionally stupid to keep getting caught as much as Chief Graves tells him he does.

He is still surprised when Chief Graves comes in one morning dragging a tall, red-haired man by the upper arm. Credence puts down a book he’s been reading and looks at Chief Graves with a slightly raised eyebrow.

 

“Catching this fucker harassing people on the streets wasn’t on my agenda, getting coffee was,” he explains and pushes his arrestee into an empty chair rather forcefully.

 

“Same as usual?”

 

“Add an extra espresso into that,” Graves replies and commands the ginger man not to move a single muscle, then walks over to the counter and drops a few coins into Credence’s tip jar.

 

“He doesn’t look like a street harasser,” Credence notes after setting the coffee machine to work.

 

“That’s because I’m not,” says the man. His British accent is thick, and Credence’s heart flutters at the sound of it.

 

“Shut it,” Chief Graves sighs out and opens his mouth to say something, but the British man cuts in again.

 

“I was not harassing that man, I was trying to talk some sense into him, which was not a crime last time I checked.”

 

“You would’ve stolen his dog if I wasn’t there,” Graves shoots back and glares at the coffee machine, as if that would make the coffee drip faster.

 

The Brit starts saying something, but Credence jumps in with a, “Would the arrestee like a coffee as well?”

 

Chief’s glare shifts from the coffee to Credence. “Of course not,” he splutters at the same time the arrestee confirms that he would like a caramel latte.

 

Credence stutters something incoherent as he looks as the British man smiling at him in encouragement, and Chief Graves telling him by no means to take the order.

 

“Don’t listen to him, I’m just as much a customer as he is,” the Brit says, and Credence slowly reaches out for a paper cup as he looks at Graves cautiously.

 

Graves says nothing, just sighs in defeat so Credence takes the cup and presses some grinded coffee into the portafilter.

 

“You’ll have to uncuff me, Chief, I’m afraid I can’t reach my wallet,” comes the accented voice, followed by a sound of handcuffs being shackled. Credence can’t see the look on Graves’ face, but he could bet he’s as done as a man can possibly be.

“Don’t speak to me until I’ve had my coffee, Scamander, or I swear to God I’ll shove you in jail.”

 

Credence turns around with Graves’ coffee in hand. It swishes dangerously close to the brim, but Credence pays it no mind. “That’s him?”

 

“Why are you so surprised?” asks Chief Graves in response.

 

“He doesn’t look like a vandal,” Credence says with a shrug.

 

“I’m not a vandal,” says Mr Scamander and stands from his chair with a little trouble, having his hands cuffed by his back.

 

“Pay him no mind, Barebone, he was just about to steal a dog from a stranger, and that’s vandalism if not more.”

 

Credence sets Chief’s coffee and goes back to finishing Mr Scamander’s.

 

“I just said I’d take the dog if the owner kept walking him with an anti-tugging collar. Those things hurt dogs.”

 

“I told you to keep it shut,” Graves barks. Credence froths some milk and pours the espresso shot carefully over it as, judging by the sounds and Graves’ silent stream of curses, Mr Scamander gets uncuffed.

 

“Is it really necessary for you to grip my arm so tightly? I’m not going to flee, you know,” Mr Scamander says so quietly Credence doesn’t catch it.

 

When he turns around with the caramel latte, Chief Graves is standing a few steps away from Mr Scamander.

 

Mr Scamander opens his wallet and starts counting change to pay for the coffee. Credence doesn’t understand how someone so innocent looking could be the criminal Chief always complains about.

 

Credence looks at Mr Scamander’s thin shirt, the only thing under his unbuttoned blue coat, and suppresses a shudder. Mr Scamander is not dressed according to the weather. His hands are red from the cold, and Credence wants him to just stop picking out coins with his fingers, visibly stiff from the cold, and take the coffee already.

 

Chief Graves has the same idea, but most likely for different reasons. He sighs out a, “Jesus,” and slams a five dollar bill onto the counter. “Scoot.”

 

Mr Scamander looks completely lost as Chief grips him by the arm and drags him away. He only barely manages to drop his change into his coat pocket and grab his coffee. “Thank you,” he stammers to Chief, to which he just replies with a grunt before they both disappear through the door.

 

Credence lets out a deep breath and puts the five dollars into the cash register. Mr Scamander is kind of sort of endearing with his calm aura and his shy smile and his confident words, and Credence hates himself for thinking that. Chief would not approve of it one bit.

 

+

 

Ms Goldstein (or, Queenie, as she tells Credence to call her) comes in just a little after two and orders a large black coffee.

 

“It’s for Mr Graves,” she explains, looking at pastries. “He’s especially moody today. I had to go out to buy him cigarettes twice.

 

“Something causing trouble?” Credence asks.

 

“Someone. He came in dragging that Scamander kid with him and he’s been working on the poor boy’s case since then.”

 

Credence hums in understanding as he makes the coffee.

 

“I can sometimes hear Chief yell at the boy through the walls,” Queenie continues. “Although it’s not like Newt is completely innocent, he deliberately pushes Chief to the edge.”

 

“Newt?”

 

“Scamander. Unusual name, right?”

 

Queenie leaves the shop with a muffin for herself, a black coffee for Chief Graves and a caramel latte for Newt Scamander, Credence’s treat.

 

2.

 

Newt Scamander, to Credence’s surprise, visits the coffee shop early in the morning the very next day. He’s carrying a small stack of books in one hand. It’s as red as it was the last time, and Credence wants to ask him if he’d like to take a pair of mittens from the lost and found basket.

 

“Good morning,” Credence greets.

 

“Hello,” Newt replies and goes over to the counter. “I never thanked you for the coffee, and I was just going to class, I thought I’d stop by,” he says as he looks somewhere behind Credence.

 

“You’re welcome.” As much as he’d like to say something else, Credence bites back any rambling and just stands there. Newt Scamander also just stands there, and neither say anything. The silence is heavy and awkward despite the fact that there’s music playing in the background. Credence doesn’t look at the man in front of him and busies his hands with pulling at a loose thread from his apron.

 

“I never got your name.”

 

“Credence,” Credence says way too quickly.

 

“I’m Newt.”

 

“I know.”

 

Newt lets out a breathy laugh. “I suppose you do.”

 

He doesn’t look like he has anything more to say, so Credence asks, “Would you like anything?”

 

Newt throws his head back and starts reading the menu. “What’s a spicy mochaccino?”

 

“Uhm,” Credence clears his throat, “it’s basically a double espress-” and is promptly interrupted by the door opening and the bell clinking. Chief Graves comes in, and Credence looks at the clock on the cash register. Twelve to nine.

 

“Barebone,” he says, as he usually does, and then adds a less certain, “Scamander?”

 

“Good morning, Chief,” Newt says and picks up his books. “I’ve got class in ten minutes, I really have to run,” he says and slips past Graves into the street and behind a corner.

 

“What was he doing here?”

 

“Thanking me for the coffee,” Credence answers and places a paper cup in the machine.

“Hm,” Graves says and takes out his wallet.

 

+

 

Newt is very unpredictable, Credence finds later on. He doesn’t show up again, and keeps out of trouble. That, or Chief Graves doesn’t care for telling Credence about him.

 

Credence is more attentive to the bell above the door, raising his eyes quickly every time it clinks. To his disappointment, it’s never Newt. It’s mostly students, but Newt is never one of them.

 

Credence really hates himself for being like this. For wanting way more than he deserves. So he pushes these thoughts back as far as he can, and occupies himself as much as he can. He starts working the night shift at a carpet cleaning company, which leaves Credence void of energy to do anything, save for, obviously, going to both his jobs, and sleeping in-between.

 

It works well without actually overtiring Credence. He can still focus on making coffee and not get tired after a minute of scrubbing carpets. Sure, he doesn’t read as much because his eyelids are heavier than usual but it’s nothing a cup of coffee can’t fix.

 

Sometime between serving people coffee Credence stops staring at the door with his heart filled with (false) hope. He just leans against the wall and closes his eyes for a little bit instead. It works well.

 

The doorbell rings, and Credence stands straight as he opens his eyes just in time to see none other than Newt close the door with his foot and, after reaching the counter in two quick steps, carefully place a massive box on it.

 

“Oh what’s- You can-t-“ Credence stutters.

 

“Credence, I could do with a helping hand,” Newt says and opens the flaps of the box. “I found them by the dumpsters, and I’m in a rush…” he trails off and Credence peeks a look at the inside of the box.

 

“Oh.”

 

They’re kittens. Small, fluffly, blind kittens. And Newt is carefully taking one out and pressing it to his chest. Credence is not sure what to think.

 

“Aren’t they cute?”

 

“Um,” Credence looks at Newt, clutching the little kitten to himself, “I guess?”

 

“I would be forever grateful if you watched them for me,” Newt says and places the kitten back in the box. Credence counts seven little kittens. He’s not too fond of them, if he’s being honest.

 

“I’m not sure I can do that,” he finally says. The disappointed look on Newt’s face makes him wish he hadn’t.

 

“It’s only for two hours. I’ll fetch them after class, which,” Newt glances at his watch, “mind you, is starting in ten minutes,” he finishes and pushes the box toward Credence.

 

This is a bad idea, Credence could get fired for this.

 

“Okay, for two hours.”

 

“Oh, thank you so much!” Newt exclaims smiling. “They shouldn’t be any trouble, but don’t give them any milk,” he says as he produces a pen from his pocket and jots something down on a napkin. “This is my number, text me if anything goes wrong,” he instructs, places the napkin on top of the box, and flies out the door sooner than Credence can manage a decent reply to him.

 

Well, then.

 

Credence sighs and pockets the napkin before lifting the box off the counter and putting it under. After a second thought, Credence crouches again and opens the flaps so the kittens get enough air.

 

+

 

Newt comes a little late, not that Credence minds.

 

“You didn’t text me,” he says.

 

“Uhm.” Credence retrieves the kittens from under the counter and hands the box carefully to Newt. “Everything went well?”

 

“Ah,” Newt stretches one hand to gently pet the kittens. “I was actually hoping to get your number this way,” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips as he looks at the kittens.

 

Credence’s cheeks heat up. “Oh? Okay.”

 

Newt keeps silently tending to the kittens as Credence fishes out his phone and the napkin from his apron pocket. He types in Newt’s number with shaky hands and presses call. Newt’s phone starts vibrating almost immediately.

 

“Got it,” he says, and Credence ends the call. “And thank you for looking after the kittens.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Credence shrugs.

 

“Would you be interested in visiting them sometime? When they’re bigger and more fun to play with?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I’d like that,” Credence manages to reply. He’s not entirely sure how to interpret the invitation, but it’s certainly more than he woke up this morning hoping for.

 

“Okay, I’ll text you the address,” Newt says, picks up the box and looks at Credence warmly once more before stepping into the street.

 

Credence decides that he loves kittens.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written like a year and a half ago but im only posting it now, hope you liked!! tell me if u want more, i maybe have an idea for an epilogue


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